


she seems to have an invisible touch

by TooManyGaysTooLittleTime



Category: The Wardstone Chronicles - Joseph Delaney
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Grimalkin, Kind of implied sexual content, get grimalkin a gf 2k20, grimalkin is also a bit touch-starved, i apologise in advance to the tag wranglers for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25360357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyGaysTooLittleTime/pseuds/TooManyGaysTooLittleTime
Summary: Grimalkin is helped by a healer, and in return she finds that there are other things to pass the time than merely weapons training.
Relationships: Grimalkin/Original Female Character
Kudos: 3





	she seems to have an invisible touch

**Author's Note:**

> set at some point between the starblade and the wardstone chronicles

Nominally, Grimalkin is an assassin, as the blades strapped to her can attest. And, as an assassin, she does not have feelings. _Cannot_ have feelings. 

So what is this warmth that is flowing through her as she feels the gentle touch of fingertips against her leg, the desire she feels for the healer witch’s hands to linger? It must be a spell cast by some malignant witch, or a creature of the Fiend’s. Grimalkin does not know what else might cause it.

“Easy now,” the witch says as Grimalkin struggles to sit up, pushing off the tree trunk where she is leaning by using her hands to push against the ground. She is weakened, so she allows the witch to lower her torso to sit comfortably against the tree trunk again. Bark digs into her shoulder blade, but Grimalkin has experienced far worse pain, so she does not shift to adjust herself and possibly cause the wound to hurt more. 

She lets out a groan as the witch’s hand slides up her thigh to push her trouserleg away, head tilting back and lips falling open. Although she is aware that the motion is no more than is needed to assist the witch in binding the slice on her leg, her body does not seem to know this, and reacts to it as the hand of a lover. 

Dimly, she realises how long it has been since she has enjoyed the attentions of anyone in _that_ way. Occasionally, when she had been near Roughlee, she had stopped at Agnes Deane’s cottage and had a solitary night of pleasure with her, but otherwise Grimalkin has stayed celibate, prioritising her weaponry over affairs. Neither has she really experienced desire, being uninterested in what men can offer her and finding the women she encounters fearful of her blackened lips and teeth filed into points, even without the weapons she straps onto herself. 

This witch, however, seems undaunted by Grimalkin’s appearance, and she takes it as a positive sign. As the hand on her thigh begins to move away, she snatches her right hand from where it is trapped underneath her thigh and places it over the witch’s. It might be a bold show of affection, and it might get her sent away from the healer, but she can manage on her own without the healer’s attentions to her wound. 

The witch’s eyes drop to stare at Grimalkin’s hand covering hers, but her reception is not negative, to Grimalkin’s quiet joy. Teeth nibble at her bottom lip, and her eyes dart up to meet Grimalkin’s coquettishly. 

“I simply need to tie off the cloth,” the witch whispers quietly, voice husky, and Grimalkin nods, eyes fixed firmly upon the dip of the witch’s head as she works to tie a knot. 

“Your name,” Grimalkin says, her voice gravelly from disuse. 

“Lucinda,” the witch says, lips parting in a whisper of breath. “Lucinda Malkin.”

Last time Grimalkin had been in Pendle, she had not seen a Malkin with the looks of this witch, but she pays no mind to the nagging doubts passing through her mind. Lucinda lifts her head, chin tilting upwards, and it seems the easiest thing in the world for Grimalkin to place one finger under her chin and drag her pale pink lips to meet her own black-painted ones.

The witch is soft against Grimalkin’s sharp teeth, and warm against Grimalkin’s chilled skin. Her lips part gently, but Grimalkin is rough with her tongue as she deepens the kiss. The encouraging noises that Lucinda makes, however, Grimalkin takes as approval. 

Grimalkin pulls out of the kiss suddenly, and her lips move to Lucinda’s neck, kissing there and sucking dark marks. Lucinda slides further onto Grimalkin’s lap, and her hands fist in Grimalkin’s dark hair, tugging as her mouth moves further down. 

It can only be for one night, but this is what Grimalkin is used to. She is perfectly content to have one night of warmth and comfort, and she had assumed that Lucinda felt the same. 

Lucinda lifts Grimalkin’s face from her neck and looks into her eyes, tenderness filling them. “You’ll come back to me? After this?”

Grimalkin finds herself nodding inadvertently, but she promises herself that after the battle against the new threat, Talkus the Unborn, she will return to Lucinda and allow herself to fall into the feeling of being loved and cherished once more. 

**Author's Note:**

> lesbiangrimalkin on tumblr


End file.
